Harry Potter and the Emerald City
by LillyKincaid
Summary: Rated T for future chapters; After the defeat of Voldermort Harry feels he can finally live a normal life, until one letter from the Ministry of Magic will send him back into the path of danger. Chapter 4 is up! Please R&R! Please? Pretty Please?
1. Prologue

The torrential downpour pounding on his bedroom window did nothing to dampen his spirits.

Now was his chance.

News had finally reached this distant wizarding community. Voldemort was dead. That Potter, Harry Potter had actually succeeded, to the amazement of those all around the world.

Now was his chance.

With Voldemort gone there was no threat, no reason not to pursue the plan he had in place for years. He knew he could succeed where others had failed. He knew it was his destiny to rule, to be the one to help wizards rise above the muggles. How could it be that such a weak race of humans could dominate the planet, while his people were forced to hide, and punished when practicing the extent of their power? He could see how easy it would be to rule, to enslave that inferior race, despite those idiotic enough to protect them, even support them, handing them rights that their inferior blood failed to earn.

Of course, he wasn't the first one to think this. In fact, he could name several people who thought the same way on the subject, friends and family. But all of them, other than him, were too cowardly to take action. They were too cowardly to take a stand. Sure others had attempted this in the past, Voldemort, Grindiwald. But they had failed where he would soon succeed. And he wouldn't make all the mistakes Voldemort had made, or the ones Grindiwald had made before him. He had his own plan to put wizards in their proper place as the ruler of all. He would rid government of those ludicrous muggle protection acts, and he would put wizards on top, right where they were meant to be.

And he would rule. He would make it past Grindiwald, past Voldemort and blind sight fools like Harry Potter and the Enforcers. Luckily Voldemort did do one thing right; He managed, surprisingly, to get rid of Dumbledore killed and out of the way. But this offered little comfort.

Since Dumbledore had been in a different country and on a different continent entirely, he posed significantly less a threat to him as he did to Voldemort.

Voldemort. That fool. That infantile, that inadequate predecessor! How had he managed to get as far as he got being all those things and worse? He always let his anger sway his actions and ruin what might have been a decent plan. Anger, it was anger was it not, that kept him from killing Harry Potter while he could after regaining his body? Anger and his need for the perfect revenge, that gave Harry the chance to fight while he could've easily been killed while he was tied to a tombstone?

The blundering fool! He would not allow the same foolishness from himself as that vile Voldemort! His plan would succeed. He would purify the Wizarding world. But first, the Americas. So many muggle lovers had hindered the Congress of Wizardry. They would be the first to go. And no one, not even that childish Harry Potter would stand in his way.


	2. Chapter 1: The Invitation

The sun was just starting to rise over London. The think fog that had clung to the city had dispersed and the sun illuminated every detail the fog had stolen for so long. Early risers on their way to work or starting a morning jog inhaled deeply as they stepped from their houses, the morning air crisp and clear for the first time in ages. For the first time that summer you could look around and appreciate everything in its natural, beautiful Technicolor. But no one noticed the peculiar sight of a tawny owl flapping through the air and disappearing completely as it passed over the fence between number 11 and number 13 Grimmauld Place.

There in the depths of the hidden sanctuary of number 12 Grimmauld Place Harry Potter was treating himself to a morning in. He had turned off his alarm clock, bolted his bedroom and asked the other inhabitants of the house to refrain from waking him unless he was really needed.

It had only been a few short days since the final battle had taken place and Harry had finally succeeded in his task of destroying Voldemort, but with many casualties on both sides. It had been only four days since the final battle and every one of them had held a memorial service of some kind. Even the day after the battle the Ministry of Magic held a public service, listing the dead and the missing. It had been a bittersweet event for everyone, the final battle. Wizards didn't know if it was right to mourn for those who lost their lives or rejoice that the war was finally over.

The days that followed each held private services for those who had died, two services the day before. Harry received notifications for all of them and he felt obligated to go. He got many thanks, many tears and many angry glares that blamed him for their loved one's involvement in the war. Harry didn't mind. He was past caring about other's views of him.

Today was the first day that Harry hadn't received notification for a funeral and Harry planned to take advantage of it and sleep till noon. He was still exhausted from that night and hadn't managed to sort through everything that had happened.

In the master bedroom Harry slept soundly until an insistent tapping broke the spell and Harry awoke with a curse. Sitting up and rubbing sleep out of his eyes Harry glared around his new bedroom, looking for the cause of him being awake. His eyes landed on his window where the shadow of an owl was visible through his closed curtains. Dread seeped through him. Whose funeral would he have to attend next?

Rising off the bed Harry opened the window and let the owl inside. He retrieved the scroll of parchment and settled to read it as the bird swooped out into the sun filled sky. At first Harry was relieved to see that he hadn't gotten another funeral invitation, but then he couldn't see how a letter from the Ministry of Magic could be much better. Reluctantly Harry tore through the official wax seal and read:

Dear Harry Potter,

On behalf of all those working at the Ministry of Magic I'd like to express our gratitude for what you have done for our nation. Please know your contribution will not go unnoticed and we hold you in the highest regard.

A very important and urgent matter has been introduced to the Ministry and we inquire upon your assistance with this matter. We wish you to speak to the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, in person on this matter. Please send a return owl informing us if you can attend the scheduled meeting tomorrow, the twenty-sixth of June, at ten in the morning.

Respectfully yours.

Malfilda Hopkirk

Harry stared at the writing in disbelief. What in the name of Merlin would Kingsley need with him? Kingsley Shacklebolt had officially taken over as Minister of Magic just two days after the fall of Voldemort. It had fallen on his shoulders to stitch together the healing nation and deal with the recovery of the government.

Scratching his head over what he could possibly be needed for Harry dragged himself to the old wooden desk to pen a reply. With a pang of guilt over the memory of Hedwig he gave the small parchment scroll to his recently purchased eagle owl he named Conrad. Glancing at his watch as he secured it around his wrist Harry gave up all hopes to sleep in and growled at the early hour. It was barely past six in the morning.

Harry dragged clothes over his wiry frame and grudgingly accepted that he was awake and was going to stay that way until he took the Dreamless Sleep Potion he took almost every night. Insomnia had settled in and Harry could rarely sleep without some sort of magical intervention. He would lie awake for hours otherwise, running the final battle over through his head, analyzing what had happened and how so many people, Tonks, Remus, Fred, and many others had lost their lives. If he did manage sleep without the potion the night was filled with confusing and painful nightmares. He was too tired to find out what they mean, he had enough things to deal with during the day, he couldn't focus energy on solving his sleeping habits too.

Feeling in a right foul mood first thing in the morning wasn't made any better when he stepped out of his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. He had started sleeping in Sirius's old bedroom once he moved back here the day after they had left Hogwarts to be repaired. The first night he had spent at The Burrow, but, for the first time on his life, he couldn't stand being there. He couldn't take getting in the way of the Weasley family's mourning for Fred. He felt as if he was imposing on their generosity and being an additional burden to their grieving state. That night was the first night he didn't sleep. He couldn't for the pained wailing coming from Mrs. Weasley as she sobbed for her lost son. He had tried to tune it out, but couldn't. And there was the instinctive guilt that it was his fault, the guilt he couldn't rid himself of no matter how he reasoned with himself. He knew it wasn't his fault, but that didn't stop his body from feeling the pain as if it was.

He moved the next day, telling Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that he needed time alone to think about what he was going to do now that he actually had a life to plan. He had kissed Ginny on the cheek and registered the surprise in her bloodshot brown eyes when he did. He still had a lot to fix in that area too.

Harry was shocked when Ron said he wanted to come as well. After Harry had told him and Hermione that he was leaving they had decided they wanted to come to. Ron needed time to figure out his own direction in life and Hermione wasn't leaving to get her parents from Australia until most of the remaining death eaters were captured. All three of them knew that they were prime targets for any death eater looking to seek revenge for their fallen leader.

So the three of them were now the sole inhabitants of Grimmuald Place and Harry suspected both of them were already in the kitchen, Hermione refusing to ask Kreacher for anything so she was mostly feeding Ron charcoal bacon. The last thing Harry wanted was to go down to the basement kitchen and face them after having asked both of them not to disturb him before the afternoon so he could catch up on his sleep. Everyday Harry endured Hermione's worried glances and attempted lectures on health and the benefits of sleep. The main reason he had decided to sleep in that morning was to get her of his back. And here he was awake at 6 am. He entered the kitchen unwillingly, determined to annoy Hermione by getting Kreacher to make him a breakfast worthy of Hogwarts.


	3. Ch 2: Lectures, Worries, and SPEW

**Author's Note: Thank you SO much to all of you for reading my story! This is my first fanfic story EVER so I appreciate all of you who are giving it a chance. Reviews are greatly wanted and constructive criticism is appreciated!**

**I planned to get this chapter out earlier, but a few things have gotten in my way. But here it is! Chapter 2! Enjoy!**

Hermione coughed as the strong smell of charcoal wafted into her face. A thick cloud of smoke billowed around her as the porridge hardened and blackened on the bottom of the pot. Ignoring Ron's infuriating snickering she scraped furiously at the burning mess, attempting to loosen it from the pan. Streaks of black decorated her thin hands as bits of blackened porridge flew from her desperate stabs with the wooden spoon.

"Use your wand, Hermione," Ron told her through stifled laughs.

Looking daggers at her boyfriend through the thick cloud of smoke Hermione pulled out her wand and aimed it at the smoking mess.

_Scourfgy _she thought, focusing wordlessly on removing the blackened porridge. In an instant it was gone, leaving the remaining smoke to slowly disperse throughout the room.

"Ronald," she began, using the tone she knew made Ron nervous as she poured more dry oats in the now clean pot, "if you don't like the way I cook around here you could get off you arse occasionally and be useful!"

She turned to the red head at the table.

"Really Ronald! You'd think you weren't capable of taking care of any household responsibilities with how little you do here!"

She opened here mouth furiously as Ron slid towards the floor in his chair to avoid her. With only his flaming hair visible Hermione was ready and willing to launch into a whole new attack when she was distracted my the sound of the door opening.

"Give him a break, Hermione," said a very tired looking Harry as he came in. "He doesn't do anything because you get to everything before either of us has a chance."

Rather than get started on Harry too Hermione held her tongue, taking in Harry's ragged appearance. The deep purple circles under his eyes seemed to be a permanent feature to his face., never lightening fully that she noticed. She new the last thing Harry wanted was to her to remind him yet again that he needed his sleep, but what did he expect when he came down here looking like this? Everyday? His skin had gone even paler than normal, losing any healthy color that had been there. Hermione decided to approach the subject, hopefully not angering him in the process.

"Good morning, Harry," she said carefully as he took a seat next to Ron. She turned to the oats and used her wand to add water before lighting the flame in the gas stove. "I thought you were planning to sleep in today?"

She heard an already annoyed huff of breath from behind her. She winced internally. Clearly he expected her to badger him.

Waiting for an answer Hermione continued to busy herself with her second attempt at making porridge, trying to be patient. Her patience was wasted, however, as Harry proceeded to completely ignore her and call out for Kreacher.

"Yes? Master Harry called Kreacher?" said the old house elf, dressed in one of his many brand new bath towels Hermione insisted Harry buy for him. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Harry . Why did he insist on encouraging Kreacher's enslavement?

"Good morning, Kreacher," Hermione spoke loudly as Harry opened his mouth to speak to Kreacher. "How are you doing today?"

The house elf turned and gave Hermione a low bow, bending to an acute angle at the hips.

"Very well, Miss Hermione. Thank you." Kreacher turned back to Harry expectantly. "can Kreacher do anything for Master Harry this morning?"

Hermione glared angrily at Harry, daring him to upset her by making Kreacher do his work. He responded with raised eyebrows over his tired green eyes.

"Yes, Kreacher," he finally said. "I'm starved. Could you throw together something for breakfast?"

Kreacher smiled, his old skin shifting at the movement.

"Yes, of course, Master Harry, sir. Kreacher lives to serve. What would you like Kreacher to make for Master Harry?"

"I would love some fried eggs and bacon."

"Right away, Master Harry. Would Master Ron and Miss Hermione like Kreacher to make some for them too?" Kreacher asked looking at both Ron and Hermione in turn.

"No thank you, Kreacher," Hermione said coldly, glaring at Harry who was looking anywhere but at her.

"Well I'm starving," Ron exclaimed. "Been waiting for 'Mione to cook something edible for ages!"

"Ron!" Hermione rounded on him again. But before she could do more than shout Ron's name Kreacher said "right away, Master Ron," and scurried to the stove, promptly tossing the pot filled with congealed outs in the sink and started cooking.

With a furious huff of anger Hermione plopped herself down across from the boys and grabbed a piece of toast, one of the few things she apparently was capable of making. She glared at Harry, who had his head in his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What are you doing up so early, Harry?" Hermione wasn't going to bother being nice about it anymore. Harry wasn't taking care of himself and she was going to do something about it, his opinion be damned. Harry took a deep and resigned breath, giving in to the inevitable, Hermione's interference.

"I got an owl, that's why," he said, putting as much venom in his voice as he could.

Hermione felt her stomach drop. Whose funeral now? Ron seemed to have the same idea for his eyes dropped the humor that always shone in them. That carefree nature she fell in love with slipping away to be replaced with dread.

"From who?" Hermione asked, not wanting to let herself think of burying another friend.

"The Ministry," Harry explained, not lifting his head from his hand but earning a sigh of relief form both Ron and Hermione. "Kinglsey wants to see me for some reason."

"Why?" Ron asked, confusion clear in his voice.

"I don't know. The letter didn't say."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at that information. "can I see it?"

"'Thought you'd want to," Harry pulled a piece of parchment from his jeans pocket. He thrust it towards Hermione who immediately began to read. Ron stood and peered down at it form above, reading it upside down much to Hermione's annoyance. She finished it quickly and stuffed it in Ron's hand to get him away.

"Did you send a reply?" Hermione asked as Ron continued reading the now slightly wrinkled letter.

"Yeah, I said I would be there. You can't exactly say no to the Minister of Magic."

"From what I recall," Ron interrupted as he handed the letter back to Harry, "you've already said no a fair amount of times to the past Ministers."

"Yeah, well, they were dicks weren't they? But Kingsley has always been on our side. I wonder what he could possibly need from me, though."

"He shouldn't ask for a thing from you," Hermione huffed, clearly annoyed with Kingsley. "You've already saved the entire wizarding world. What else could he possibly want you to do? His job for him?"

"He didn't ask me to kill Voldemort. I did that without prompting. Look, I'm gonna go tomorrow and see what he wants. Are you two coming or not?"

"Of course were coming with you, mate," Ron insisted. "When do we ever let you do anything alone anyway?"

Harry smiled and rolled his eyes at that, finally lifting his head and shaking some of his sleepy demeanor as Kreacher put overflowing plates in front of him and Ron. Harry attacked the plate, stuffing food in his face at a speed to rival Ron who already had two eggs and four slices of bacon in his mouth. Kreacher had made a lot more than just eggs and bacon, Hermione saw as Ron lifted a biscuit smothered in gravy to his lips.

Annoyed that Kreacher was made to serve her friends she turned to make herself some food. She stood and made her way to the stove which looked so pristine you wouldn't think Kreacher had cooked anything. She stopped in surprise to find a pot of perfectly prepared porridge bubbling gently on the stove.

"Kreacher helped Miss Hermione with her porridge," Kreacher said happily as he returned to the stove after putting clean dishes away. "It is ready for Kreacher to serve now, if Miss Hermione would like to sit down?"

"Kreacher, that's really sweet of you, but I can make my own food-"

"No you can't!' called Ron as he unceremoniously balanced a quarter of his food on his fork.

"Oh, shut UP!" Hermione shouted back as Kreacher busied himself with placing a variety of sugars and spices on the table.

"Kreacher is happy to serve any friend of Master's. If Miss Hermione would sit down so Kreacher can bring her porridge?" He pulled her chair out for her and waited expectantly.

Hermione gave in, Kreacher was hard to say no to at times, and let Kreacher push her chair in for her as she sat down. She still managed an dirty look at Harry who just smirked in response as Kreacher brought her a large bowl of steaming porridge.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Hermione said kindly before turning to Harry. "I don't know why you encourage this, Harry. It's wrong and you know it to have an entire species enslaved to serve us."

"Hermione, he likes it. They all like it. It's not like I beat him or anything."

"He deserves to be independent, I don't know why you don't see that!" Hermione hissed angrily.

"Hermione, give it a rest," Harry shot back, glaring right back.

"I will not! And if anyone needs rest around here it's you! You like the walking dead, Harry!"

"I do not!"

"Do to! I half expect you to drop dead any second!"

Harry glared at Hermione as he scrapped up the bit of food off his plate. He stood and fled from the room, every part of his demeanor exuding anger and exhaustion. With a slam the kitchen door closed behind him as Ron and Hermione listened to the sound of him heading upstairs.

"You should've just given it a rest, Hermione. Look what you did," Ron scolded her, clearly unhappy his best friend was furious with his girlfriend.

"Oh, let him be mad at me! He knows I'm right and needs to take better care of himself. Our stock of Dreamless Sleep Potion is nearly depleted. He's been sneaking it and that stuff can be highly addictive."

At this news Ron seemed a bit more worried. Rightly so, in Hermione's opinion.

"There are consequences to taking potions to fix all your problems. If Harry takes that potion to often he'll become dependent in it, so his body won't be able to sleep without it. Not to mention it's really powerful, it can wear down the lining of your stomach and cause ulcers. It's also really hard on your lives. He needs to be more careful!"

"If you want him to listen to that, Hermione, you need to stop attacking him every time you see him."

"Maybe it would be best if you talked to him. Try to figure out why he can't sleep."

"You know he hates accepting help from anyone, Hermione. That includes me."

"Just try, Ron. Please?"

Like the sucker he knew he was for her, Ron nodded. "You'll have to repay me though," he taunted, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Prat," Hermione said in a disgusted tone, but she was smiling. She walked around the table and let Ron pull her into his lap, their lips meeting in a kiss.


	4. Chapter 3: Harry's Secret

**Author's Note: I am SOOO sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter up. I've been sick and stuck in bed for a week, so writing has been on the peripheral, my main focus getting better to get back to school. I hope enjoy the new chapter! Please Review!!! Thank ALL of you who read this story, I would love some feedback so I can improve and make a better story for you!**

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Being tired definitely did not improve his temper.

Harry watched angrily, feeling only slightly guilty, as Ron stormed away after attempting to fill his role as Hermione's lap dog. It was typical, natural even, for Ron to do any and everything for Hermione. Harry wouldn't mind as much if Hermione didn't seem to want to bug him to death. It wasn't like he would do any differently, if he had a girlfriend asking him to do stuff. He couldn't imagine a thing he wouldn't do for Ginny. If he ever got around to talking to her.

When he was being perfectly honest with himself, he knew he was avoiding her. And he knew this was the stupidest thing for him to do. Hadn't he made it clear he still wanted her when he broke it off over a year ago? He had said that he could be with her after the war, and the war was finally over. What was he waiting for?

With a groan Harry closed his bedroom door left open when Ron fled the room in rage. He would write to her. Surely that was the best way to contact her. He sat at his desk, telling his nervous side to fuck off as he dipped a quill in ink and wrote "Dear Ginny" at the top of a scroll of parchment. Then his hand froze, the quill leaving a perfectly round drop of scarlet ink, like a drop if shining blood. What do you say in a letter?

"Hi," _oh brilliant start, "_How are you doing?" _basic enough, asking about the weather next? "_I was just writing to say hi," _and you already did that, "_and see how things are going with you." _Stupid, stupid, I just rewrote what I just said!_

Emitting a low growl of frustration Harry quickly scratched out the inferior line and a half of script. Would it be easier to break the ice in person? He imagined going to the Burrow and trying to get a second alone with her when surrounded by grieving family members. It was probably best to put this off for a while, he told himself. He didn't want to risk causing any undo stress in the Weasley household.

With a resigned sigh Harry dropped the quill, splattering the already soiled parchment further, and leaned back in his desk chair, tipping back on the hind legs. What a mess. He yawned, feeling the shudders caused by lack of sleep shaking through his body. Not speaking to Ginny, pissing Ron off, and Hermione riding his back. Perfect. Just what he wanted to happen after the war. Eyes itching and body sagging as if it were full of lead, Harry collapsed on his bed in a swift yet clumsy turn, promptly knocking the wooden chair to the floor. Maybe sleeping wouldn't be bad. He _was _really tired….

_It was always the same. Every time he knew at some level he was dreaming, but the terror was the same. The long and dark expanse of the Hogwarts yard was stretched before him. The night was clear, stars were visible in masses, forming intricate patterns that no one below could appreciate on that ironically beautiful night. Flashes of light appeared frequently, and from every side. Red, blue, green you wanted to avoid the most. Harry knew this. He knew many other things. He knew there was a family of red heads fighting, each of whom he cared for deeply. He knew that somewhere in the castle Ron and Hermione were trying to fight and protect each other at the same time. And he knew there were countless friends and petty enemies around him, risking their lives against a common evil. And he knew there was Ginny, somewhere in the castle, fighting, healing. He knew all these desperately important facts yet suddenly none of them seemed to matter._

_Harry sped out of the front doors, running down the sloping lawn towards the only thing that truly mattered at that moment. His heart thundering, his body aching with the effort he could feel coursing through his legs, he was still moving too slowly. Everything was. Flashes from spells lasted longer and faded slower. Bodies that were hit took full minutes to fall to the ground. And he kept running and he could see his destination. Inside a circle of bodies with his wand at the ready, dropping fighters like flies as they approached him, was Voldemort. He was laughing, watching people scream and die at the end of his wand. And Harry knew nothing was more important than getting to him. He didn't pull his wand out as the red and smiling eyes turned to him. He didn't stop running even as the green light encompassed him. He knew he needed to die-_

Harry awoke with a start, bolting upright in his bed. His heart thundered, his breathing ragged, as if he had really made the run straight towards death. Through the terror of the nightmare Harry felt anger. Anger at himself for allowing that nightmare to happen again.

As his breathing slowed and the terror dissipated, making more room for increasing anger, Harry shoved himself off the bed and out the door. He went straight for the kitchen, not bothering to employ any light source, having made this late night trip many times before. Part of Harry acknowledged that it was just past midnight, meaning he slept all day and all evening, but he didn't care. Right now he only cared about one thing and that was forgetting that the reoccurring nightmare resided in his subconscious-

And the cabinet door had a padlock.

For a split second Harry blinked in disbelief at the sight of a lock on the cabinet used to store all medicinal needs and potions. He breathed in a great gulp of air, trying to control the surging anger at Hermione. He had no doubt she had done this. That she had noticed he was taking a little sleeping potion every now and then. And now she was limiting his only means of peaceful sleep-!

Harry had been training in magic for a very long time. So he rarely, if ever, did magic outside of his control. He should've seen the spark as a warning that his mental state wasn't quite right. But it was relief he felt as the lock broke and clattered to the stone floor. He eagerly grabbed the familiar and near empty bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion. He took a large swallow, attempting to mentally measure the amount of fluid filling his mouth. Already feeling groggy he put the bottle back and closed the cabinet, ignoring Hermione's useless lock where it lay.

He understood that Hermione was worried. But that didn't stop him from being furious she had tried to keep the potion from him. He hadn't exactly hid the fact that he was taking the potion, but he didn't want Ron and Hermione to know about it at any rate. The fact that the decreasing supply of potion was noticed meant Hermione would have deducted he was having nightmares. And he really didn't want them to know the details of his dream.

Maybe if the dream actually mattered he would think differently. If it held a key to information on Voldemort, or showed he was being possessed as he used to, he would think Hermione and Ron should know. The thing was, he knew what the dream was about. He knew it was his confusion over how he lived, why he was alive, what his purpose was now that Voldemort was gone. And all anyone else would do is worry, needlessly, about him. Like they always did. The war was over. Everything was supposed to be happy and good. Or at least healing. As he managed to crawl back into bed one question was still on his mind. Why bring everyone down over a silly nightmare?

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**AN: Sorry it's so short. I intended to skip ahead to the ministry, but I felt this needed to squeeze in here. Please Review! Please please please???**


	5. Chapter 4: Kingsley Shacklebolt

It would be utterly insulting to tell Hermione how much she sounded like his Aunt Petunia in that moment. Her insistent and irritating tapping on his bedroom door was reminiscent of Harry's years at Privet Drive. It did nothing to make him more eager to awaken. It wasn't until she shrilly shouted the time at him did he jump out of bed as quickly as he could, hunting for decent clothes.

How could he over sleep? In his mad rush for clothing Harry remembered taking the Dreamless Sleep Potion but never setting his alarm clock. Irritated, Harry shoved the first decent garments he could find over himself, cursing his nightly nightmare for possibly making him late to meeting the newly instated Minister of Magic.

"We need to be at the Ministry in TEN minutes!" Hermione shrieked through the door just as Harry finished slipping shoes on.

"Alright! Let's go!" Harry shouted back as he threw his door open and grabbing Hermione by the arm, dragging her down the stairs. Ron was waiting for them in hall and quickly followed them down into the basement kitchen. Striding purposely towards the fireplace Harry threw a pinch of powder into the crackling flames and stepped into the grate.

"Ministry of Magic!"

Ron and Hermione vanished from his view as his vision was blocked by the rush of swirling green flames.

The Ministry reopened the floo networks just a few days before. With the mad rush that ensued after Voldemort's downfall the traffic leading to and from the Ministry grew to the point it was unrealistic to keep the toilet system in place.

Harry waited impatiently for Ron and Hermione to appear. After they each appeared in a unique grate the three set off to announce their presence. Harry knew he shouldn't be surprised by the level of open gawking he received from all those he passed in the crowded atrium. He was now not only the Chosen One or the Boy Who Lived, but also the Savior, as the Wizarding World was now describing him. There had been more then enough witnesses to spread every detail of the final battle. Everyone knew that Harry Potter had come through at last. Still, it didn't mean his attitude towards attention had changed at all. He lowered is head and hunched his shoulders in a futile attempt to keep from being noticed. At the very least it kept anyone from bothering him, which he knew was better than nothing.

They reached the security desk and reluctantly handed over their wands to be examined. The wizard manning the desk did a double take as Harry introduced himself and handled Harry's wand with unnecessary care. The nearly reverent way in which he held the magic object made Ron snicker and earn a quick and subtle slap on the wrist from Hermione. Gritting his teeth to stay patient with the foolish man, Harry reached out for his wand as the security wizard finished the necessary inspection.

"H-here you are, Mr. P-P-Potter," he stuttered, staring into Harry's eyes in awe. Ron's laughter resumed as the man stared after Harry who turned and walked away, wordlessly returning the other two wands. His laughter only increased when the man called after them, "have a good day, Mr. Potter!" earning several shocked looks from those around him. Infuriated by the unwanted attention Harry crammed himself into a crowded lift amidst the excited chatter, "That was Harry Potter! I spoke to Harry Potter!"

Ron's laughter had nearly reached the point of hysterics, oblivious to the other's on the crowded lift.

"Mate," he said between fits of laughter, "I didn't think it could get much worse than it was at Hogwarts, but Merlin, I was wrong about that."

Contrary to habit Hermione held her tongue, well aware of the intrusive eyes that were staring in varying states of awe at the three of them. Harry could see Hermione biting her lip, wanting to tell Ron just why the staring had intensified, but he was grateful she didn't take to ranting about that now, not when surrounded by curious ears who were already planning to tell everyone they knew that they had laid eyes on the Savior.

It was only then that Harry realized he had no idea where Kingsley's office was. He glanced at Hermione in concern who sighed and across Harry to push the only button that had not yet been activated, level one. She gave him a _you should know this _look and straightened up. Harry thought back to all their research and mapping out the Ministry as they planned the break in all those months ago. Though he didn't remember much of it. He had been more concerned with the ten thousand galleon prize on his head then committing their crude maps to memory.

The three of them were the last to step off the lift, making them very nearly late to meet the minister. The hurried along the stone passage, scanning the doors they passed looking for the Minister's Office. Finding a door labeled Minister of Magic they nervously knocked and slipped through the doorway into a lavishly decorated reception area. Plush red cushions padded several sofas, a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The large room was so exquisite that the trio froze in the doorway, scanning the room in surprise. It wasn't until a woman seated behind a mahogany desk in the center of the room called their attention did they move.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked in a stern voice, standing as if she was going to approach them.

Harry nervously made his way to the desk, the mystery reason Kingsley wanted to see him fueling his inhibitions.

"Yes, I am here to see the Minister."

The woman looked as if she were about to send Harry away until recognition dawned on her face. Her eyes widened and her jaw went lax as she took in Harry's face fully for the first time.

"Yes, of course, Mr. Potter. I will announce your presence at once. If you will please take a seat, Sir. I will only be a moment."

Still getting used to being called "Mr. Potter" and "Sir" Harry's eyes widened momentarily as the woman disappeared through a door behind her desk. He sat down next to Ron and Hermione on one of the sofas to wait.

"This place is amazing," Hermione whispered, her hushed voice fitting perfectly with the atmosphere like whispers in a library.

Just then the woman reappeared, Kingsley right behind her. A smile spread across his face as his eyes laid on Harry which he quickly returned, but faltered slightly at the sight of Ron and Hermione by his side.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, moving forward as the trio stood and clasped Harry's hand. "it's great to see you again. And you Hermione, Ron." He smiled and nodded at each of them as he released Harry's hand and straightened into his intimidating height. "I should of known you'd accompany Harry," Kingsley began, a guilty expression morphing his face. "Sadly I must speak with Harry in private. Would you to mind waiting here?"

They shook their heads quickly, looking slightly shocked by the secrecy.

"Excellent. I don't mean to be secretive, but this is for Mr. Potter's ears only, though I am sure he will tell you everything. Sheryl here will get you anything you need, be it tea or bread or anything in between don't hesitate to ask." He motioned to the woman again who immediately stood from her desk and smiled, nodding in confirmation to the Minister's words. "Right, if you'll follow me, Harry."

Giving Ron and Hermione a confused look Harry followed Kingsley through the door and down a wide hallway. Kingsley led him through another door which was evidently the entrance to his office, which shamed the reception room in comparison.

"Have a seat, Harry," Kingsley invited as he sat behind his massive wood desk. Harry sat in one of the three comfy chairs that stood across from him and looked at Kingsley expectantly.

"Well, Harry," Kingsley began, seeing the look on Harry's face. He looked tired to Harry somehow. Like the stress of running a country was taking it's toll on him physically. " regret having to call you here. I assure that if there were any other option I would not have bothered you at all."

"What is it, Kingsley? Bother me with what?"

"Well, as you know Voldemort was internationally known, while his actions typically stayed local."

"Right," Harry responded, thoroughly confused now.

"I have received news from the American leader that since the fall of Voldemort they have been having an alarming increase in crimes of a… prejudice nature."

"Wait a minute. You mean someone's killing off muggleborns in America now?" He gave Kingsley an incredulous look, already suspecting where this conversation was going.

"Homicide is way up in America, particularly in the Northwest of the country. And all victims seem to be muggleborn, yes."

"What does this have to do with me?" Harry demanded.

"Well, the Ministry has always had an alliance with the Congress of Wizardry," Harry raised his eyebrows at the unfamiliar term, "essentially the American Ministry of Magic," Kingsley explained. "So they turned to us when this pattern was noticed, worried it my have something to do with Voldemort."

"And?" Harry pressed, wanting to know why he was being involved.

"I regret needing to ask anything of you, Harry. After everything you've done for all of us. But our resources are stretched to thin right now as it is. And we cannot allow another wizard to get the same stature of power and destruction Voldemort held, not when we have the chance to stop it before it really starts."

"What are you getting at, Kingsley?" Harry nearly shouted, infuriated with his beating around the bush. "Do you want me to go hunt this person down?" Harry accused, half expecting this to be some sort of joke.

"We have no one else for the job," Kingsley said sadly, bowing his head. "I know it's too much to ask, but the chance that just as this war ended another can begin is not one I am willing to take. I had no where else to turn, Harry." He looked up with beseeching eyes as Harry stared back, dumbfounded, shocked that he was being asked to hunt down a random murderer in America not even two weeks after he had killed Voldemort.


End file.
